


Double edged sword

by brightclam



Series: DES and accompanying canon [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men Apocalypse - Fandom
Genre: Angel is a cage fighter which means trauma y'all, Angel lives, Blood, Body Horror, Dehumanization, Gen, Major Character Undeath, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, apocalypse is using the horsemen and they know it, don't read it if you like scott, erik is too nice for his own good and accidently starts forming another brotherhood, fair warning: i dislike scott and thus he's whiny in this story, humans with wings treated seriously and scientifically, metal wings got angel fucked up, what if the horsemen actually liked each other?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightclam/pseuds/brightclam
Summary: Angel struggles. Erik, Psylocke, and Storm try to help. The horsemen actually care about each other.





	1. that's attached to my skeleton, you ass!

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a lot of body horror, mostly focused on Angel's wings, so be warned.
> 
> Angel and Erik will be pretty close in this story, it could easily develop into shippiness, but for now i'm leaving it gen. 
> 
> (Angel had so much potential but he died so I'm fixing it.)

Angel’s picking a fight again. 

 

Psylocke had told Erik of Angel’s life as a cage fighter; the aggressive mindset is no surprise. But, while His behavior may not be surprising, it is irritating.

 

Angel picks storm; psylocke would probably kill him if he touched her, and he knows that attacking magneto with metal wings would end badly.

 

So, he picks storm. He silently stretches his wing behind her and then sends its blades screeching against her armor. She jumps in surprise and snarls.

 

He growls back and they begin to circle each other, like dogs sizing each other up. Psylocke rolls her eyes and steps back. Erik sighs and extends his hand just as Angel jumps.

 

He wraps his power around the metal wings and pulls, intending to stop Angel’s leap and then hold him in place. He succeeds, but Angel reacts differently than expected.

 

Instead of cursing magneto or struggling against the hold, he goes limp instantly. Erik is confused but pleasantly surprised that Angel isn't fighting him until he hears the noise.

 

A pained whimper, and harsh gasping for breath. 

 

Erik doesn't know why Angel is in pain, he isn't crushing his wings, but he releases him anyways.

 

Angel collapses to the ground, landing jarringly on his hands and knees. His wings remain limp, falling over his shoulders, the bladed tips burying themselves in the dirt.

 

He remains there for a long moment, chest heaving. Erik can see the muscles in his back jumping, twitching independently of his breathing. Tendons are pulled tight in all sections of his back, stretching towards the wings mounted on his shoulder blades.

 

Angel recovers and pulls himself to his feet, but not before Erik spots a smear of red where feathers meet flesh. Erik steps forwards; there’s something wrong here and he intends to figure out what it is.

 

Before he can speak to Angel, Apocalypse appears. He fades out of a dark doorway and strides towards Angel. He ignores the tense atmosphere and begins snapping orders:

 

“Angel. Go to the outskirts and retrieve Charles.”

 

Angel stands at attention, wings flexing nervously. He pales at the order, face turning bloodless. He hesitates too long, wings held protectively to his body, and Apocalypse roars:

 

“NOW!”

 

Angel flinches and extends his wings slowly. Again, Erik can see red staining his skin. Angel flaps once, a powerful downstroke that lifts him off of the ground. Erik sees him wince, wobble a moment, before balancing out.

 

Angel soars out of the hallway, leaving a small dust storm in his wake. Erik intends to watch his flight, see if he struggles to fly, try to figure out what could be wrong. His concerns are quickly pushed aside when Apocalypse orders him to finish constructing the pyramid.

 

\-------------------

 

_ But— _

 

_ He's heard that noise before; the whimper of a cornered dog, a child hiding from an abusive parent, his wounded cellmate trying not to alert the guard. _

 

_ Someone taught Angel that showing pain deserves punishment.  _

 

_ Erik’s mind is filled with wire cages and men with machine guns. _


	2. don't trust me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psylocke's thoughts on Erik.

\-----------

Psylocke had wondered why Apocalypse had replaced Angel’s wings with metal. She had wondered why he armored his horsemen, wrapping them in intricately worked layers of metal. 

 

When she sees his fourth horseman, she no longer wonders.

 

\-------------------

 

Magneto seemed friendly enough; he asked her about herself, wanted to know Angel’s backstory, was kind to Storm. 

 

She does not relax around him. 

 

He could crush them with their fancy armor at any moment. Whether he would do so because Apocalypse ordered him to, or just because he wanted to, she doesn't know.

 

She isn't going to be the one to find out. 

 

She stays polite, but distant. Speaks when spoken too. Stays out of the periodic fights that break out. 

  
And always watches Magneto out of the corner of her eye.


	3. strained muscles are a bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik discovers what's wrong with Angel. Psylocke decides to trust Magneto, at least a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: lots of wound description in here, blood, gore, body horror

 

Erik watches Angel’s return flight. He wobbles from time to time, flight unsteady. Eventually, Angel swoops through the pyramid’s open roof and drops Charles onto the platform prepared for him.

 

Charles’s frightened, angry stare burns into Erik’s back, but he ignores his old friend and focuses on Angel. Apocalypse dismisses Angel and Erik begins to trail him.

 

Angel twists and turns through the Pyramid’s maze-like hallways until he reaches a small, non descript room far away from the center. He steps into it and Erik slips in after him, pulling the door shut as he does.

 

Angel apparently is unaware Erik has followed him; he's collapsed in a defenseless ball in the center of the floor. He's curled in on himself protectively, wings dragging across the floor.

 

Erik decides it's time to reveal himself and steps forward, allowing his boot to clang against the floor.

 

Angel jumps, body rising off the floor, wings flailing in a storm of sharp metal. They flare out a moment later, a threat display that isn’t very convincing. Erik ignores the bristling blades; they can’t touch him unless he lets them.

 

He steps forwards calmly, hands down and relaxed. Angel snarls but his shoulders are shaking with strain. Erik speaks, keeping his voice low and nonthreatening.

 

“Angel. I’m not here to hurt you. I didn’t intend to hurt you earlier. So please, relax. I’d like to help fix the damage I did, if you’ll allow me to.”

 

Angel bares his teeth again, but seems to recognize that Erik has no good reason to hurt him. Damaging one of Apocalypse's followers can only end badly. Finally, Angel lets his wings fall, folding loosely against his back.

 

“I don’t think there’s much you can do, but take a look if you want.”

 

He turns so that his back is facing Erik, fists clenched at his sides. Aware of the trust the movement required, Erik steps forwards slowly.

 

Erik speaks lowly so he doesn't startle Angel.

 

“I don’t know your body like you do. What do you think is wrong?”

 

Angel laughs, bitter and humorless.

 

“Having wings isn’t as easy as you’d think. Human bodies don’t really match up with bird limbs. You need an entire new muscle system to work the damn things.”

 

Erik is right behind him now; he leans down so that he’s level with Angel’s back. It’s a mess; bulging with overworked muscles, blood smeared across his skin and in between the metal feathers.

 

“When they first grew in, I didn’t have the muscles to support them. They were completely useless, flopping around like dead fish. I couldn’t move for days, their weight would drag me down if I tried to stand up. Fortunately, I spent that time growing in a whole bunch of new back muscles.”

 

Where the wings sprout from his body there are two gashes in his skin. They have to be there for the wings to come out of, but they continue past where the wings are. Long, ugly slits in his skin, flesh pink inside, bloody red on the outside.

 

That’s where all the red is coming from; blood bubbling out of the cuts and smearing across the skin and metal around it.

 

“It took a while to be able to use them, I had to practice, strengthen the new muscles. But these new wings...they’re too heavy.”

 

Erik looks at the tendons pulled tight like ropes, at the muscles thrashing under his skin.

 

“My muscles can’t keep up, they're too heavy and I’m using them too much.”

 

Erik frowns; strained muscles are going to be difficult: they take a long time to heal and the more he uses them the worse they’ll get.

 

“When you grabbed me, it was a sudden yank, different from the slow wear I’ve been experiencing. I think you might have torn something.”

 

Erik winces at that; he hadn't meant to hurt him.

 

“May I touch you?”

 

He can see Angel’s defensive reaction; his shoulders rise, the blades of the wings shift so that they’re pointed out rather than flat against his body. Erik doesn’t move: Angel can’t hurt him and sudden movement might startle his twitchy patient. 

 

They stay frozen in silence for a moment until Angel speaks:

 

“Sure, just don’t fuck up anything more back there.”

 

Erik presses a hand against his back, in between the wings. The skin is tacky with blood, half dried. He can feel the muscles underneath, tense, and not relaxing.

 

He presses his thumb into the muscle; if it is strained it’s not going to relax on it’s own, and it needs to loosen up to heal.

 

Angel jerks forwards with a hiss of pain, wings bristling. Erik backs up, trying to calm him.

 

“Angel, your flight muscles are strained. If you can’t get them to relax, they’ll heal too slowly.”

 

Angel flares his wings out threateningly and snarls at him:

 

“You think I don’t know what'll happen if I can’t heal? ”

 

Erik spreads his arms placatingly.

 

“Angel. I am trying to help you. You can’t reach you back on your own.”

 

Angel sighs and his wings droop.

 

“Alright. Just give me some warning next time?”

 

Erik nods and ducks back under the sharps wings. He gives him warning this time and goes back to trying to loosen the strained muscles.

 

It helps, and Angel begins to droop, body relaxing and wings settling.

 

Still, it’s not going to be enough; Apocalypse is sure to call on Angel in the next couple of days, and he has to be able to fulfil his tasks.

 

“Angel, sit down. I’m going to get Storm.”

 

Angel looks at him suspiciously but sits down without complaint. Erik leaves the small room, trying to track Storm through the thin link Apocalypse created amongst the horsemen.

 

He can only faintly feel her; it’s not a telepathic link like what Charles creates. It doesn’t pass thoughts, only flashes of emotion and intentions. It’s probably a side effect of Apocalypse binding his horsemen to him, a side effect of his power flowing through them.

 

He focuses on the tiny sliver of Storm in the back of his head. He closes his eyes and follows it as far as he can. It’s not exact, but he’s gotten an approximate location, so he just wanders until he finds her.

 

She’s curled up in a nest of random fabric, probably brought in from the decimated city blocks around the pyramid. The bracers from her armor are piled on the floor, leaving her arms free.

 

_ She must dislike the weight. _

 

She raises her head as she enters, giving him her full attention. Erik nods to her, aware he is intruding upon her territory.

 

“Storm, if you’re willing, I need your help.”

 

She’s out of her nest in a flash, bright eyed and ready to help.

 

“Of course, Magneto. What do you need me to do?”

 

Erik turns and leaves the room, Storm rushing to catch up to him. Getting back to Angel quickly is important; he can explain on the way.Storm walks beside him, keeping up with his quick pace.

 

“Angel has injured his flight muscles. If you can apply heat, it might cut down on the swelling and they may heal quicker. Are you able to do that?”

 

“I haven't tried before, but I think I can.”

 

Erik stops her, then turns into a room on the hallway they're walking through. She pauses and waits for him. 

 

The room is a makeshift medical room; Psylocke has been stockpiling supplies there since the pyramid was built. It's only closet sized, the shelves filled with scavenged treasures. 

 

He pulls out a roll of tattered gauze, digs around behind it to find a small pair of scissors. Psylocke watches him, dark eyes intent, but doesn't stop him.

 

Erik finds a set of needles and a small roll of thread. It's just normal sewing thread, but he doubts that there's anything better to be found.

 

He turns to Psylocke with his handful of items. She looks them over, then back up him.

 

“For Angel?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Erik turns and leaves, business concluded. Storm peers through the door curiously as he closes it.

 

“Don't go in there unless Psylocke is there. It's her stash, ask permission before you take anything.”

 

Storm nods and they continue down the hallways, winding their way to the room where Angel waits.

 

He's up when they return, pacing nervously around the room. Erik tries not to look disappointed and gestures Storm into the room.

 

She smiles at Angel when she enters and he pauses. Erik shows him the medical supplies and asks:

 

“Is it alright if I sew up your wounds?”

 

Angel looks at the needle in disgust. 

 

“Why should I let you stick me with that?”

 

Erik tries to push down his rising headache and remember that Angel’s understanding of medical care is very limited. The extent of his first aid skills seems to be leaving wounds alone and hoping they get better.

 

“If I don’t sew up the splits on your back, they’ll only get larger and bleed more. For now, you should be okay, but you could lose enough blood to endanger yourself.”

 

Angel glares at Erik, unconvinced. Their silent argument is interrupted by Storm. She’s got a ripple of heat wrapped around her hands. She smiles proudly and announces:

 

“I think I got it to work.”

 

Angel turns to expose his back to her. She presses her hands to his irritated muscles and he instantly looks better. He moans and his body goes limp, no longer tense and pained. Storm keeps her hands pressed to his back, sending out ripples of heat, a human heating pad.

Erik waits until he’s had time to calm down before bringing the needle back into view. Angel still looks uncomfortable, but nods at him to go ahead.

 

Storm shifts out of the way so that he can get at the wounds. He holds the needle out for her to sterilize; it sizzles in her grip. He carefully threads it and prepares to start stitching.

 

“Angel, I’m going to start.”

 

He gets an affirmative grunt in return, so he goes to work. He pulls the flaps of skin as close together as possible and starts sewing it together. Angel winces the first couple times the needles goes in, but quickly gets used to it.

 

Erik has finished the first slit and moved on to the second when Psylocke comes in. She looks over his shoulder and tsks disapprovingly.

 

She disappears, footsteps fading down the hall. She returns a moment later with a washcloth and a bowl of water. Erik ties off the string on the second slit and turns to look at her. Angel peers over his shoulder at her as well.

 

“They'll get infected if you don't clean them.”

 

“Thank you, Psylocke. I wasn't thinking ahead.”

 

Psylocke nods and kneels down next to him, wetting the cloth and wiping at the blood crusted on Angel’s back. Erik can see him wince as she puts presses on the edges of the wounds, but he doesn't complain or pull away.

 

Storm, noticing how tense he is now that he's surrounded by people, sits down in front of him and starts up a conversation.

 

She blabbers on about her powers, creating tiny storms for him, sending lighting crackling across her palm. 

 

Meanwhile, Psylocke carefully wipes the last of the blood from his back. Erik cuts the gauze he brought into strips, wondering how he’s going to bandage around the wings.

 

Psylocke puts down her cloth and joins him, cutting them into much longer strips than Erik. He follows her lead; she seems to know more about treating wounds than he does.

 

When all the gauze has been cut, she approaches Angel again. Erik calls out a warning before she makes contact, aware that this group of people is volatile, Angel most of all.

 

Psylocke wraps the gauze all the way around his torso, crisscrossing over his chest to form an X which wraps around his wings. She adds some gauze at other angles as well, carefully creating a web that covers all of the wounds without messing with his wings.

 

Erik watches in appreciation. He wouldn't have done as good of a job; he's glad Psylocke decided to help. 

 

Storm is still trying to distract Angel. She lets the rainstorm fade and creates a whirlwind instead. It swirls, larger and larger around her hand. 

 

_ Janos, twin whirlwinds in his palms, waiting for Erik to give the word. He smirks at Magneto, ready to destroy, proud of his power and their purpose. _

  
Suddenly, hhis chest is tight and bs chrest tightens and eathing is difficult. Erik turns and leaves the room without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next few chapters will be more interesting. I'm going to write the final battle from the horsemen's pov next, then we'll move on to after the movie.


	4. In too deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short segway from the last chapter into the final fight from the movie.

\--------------

They stand in their armor, stiff and silent. Apocalypse sits on his throne, ignoring them, and they wait for him.

 

Storm looks over her teammates. Magneto, menacing in his helmet, seems unaware of his surroundings. He'd retreated into himself after bringing her to help Angel; she doesn't know why.

 

She turns to look at Angel then. He's so different from when they first saw him, perched in the shadowy supports of an abandoned building.

 

Apocalypse had taken his wings. She remembers the horror of the lord taking something from you; when his power had surged through her her hair had turned white.

 

She hasn't looked in a mirror since.

 

But Angel had lost his wings, limbs attached to him, parts he could feel in a way that she couldn't feel her hair.

 

And Apocalypse hasn't stopped there. He had turned Angel’s treasured jacket into armor, cut his hair, and pressed tattoos into his skin. 

 

She wonders why Angel was modified so extremely, but then she remembers the bottle shattering in front of them, Angel cursing at Apocalypse, turning his back on the lord.

 

Angel had been unruly, so Apocalypse had bound him tighter than the others. Now, Angel is the most loyal of them all.

 

Storm shivers. She has feared Apocalypse since she met him. He had killed her pursuers without remorse, had made her his horseman with no warning, had corrupted her power with his own.

 

Part of her wishes she had resisted. But if she had, would she have Apocalypse's marks etched into her, have her body turned against her, like Angel? 

 

They are all stuck, as surely as the polish men Apocalypse had sunk into concrete. Even the great Magneto doesn't resist, even the sly Psylocke doesn't plot against him, even the rebellious Angel is quiet now.

 

The horsemen stand by their lord, flies caught in a spider's web, and wait for the X-men to attack.


	5. the final battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The X-men and the horsemen fight. Angel almost dies, but not quite.

Erik feels the bulk of the X-men’s ship arrowing through the sky. He feels the weight of the car in Storm’s winds, feels it turned back on her. He feels her armor creak as she flinches, curling away from its oncoming crushing weight. He feels it cut into two pieces by Psylocke, feels it crash down next to Storm.

He feels Apocalypse form shackles around Charles’s wrists. He feels Angel’s wings flare as he takes flight. He feels the pure gold that crawls from Charles to Apocalypse, carrying the old lord’s essence. He feels the pyramid piece that Nightcrawler lands on, three toed feet rough and worn.

He feels the Eiffel tower, the ice breakers at the poles, the bulldozers in the forests of the equator, the satellites in orbit overhead. He feels the earrings of the woman running from an oncoming wave of earth, the wedding ring of a dead man collapsed in a crumbling building, the headphones of a child staring about a bus window in terror.

He feels everything, and his body shakes with exhaustion. His mind is brimming with power, burning with Apocalypse in him, almost too strong. He feels like he will snap if he pushes even the tiniest bit further.

He can't think beyond the field loops he’s tearing out of the earth, beyond the task given to him by his lord: tear down everything they've built.

He can feel the horsemen fighting the X-men, feels Apocalypse go still and Charles begin to thrash desperately, but he can't do anything but tear the world apart.

He's glad Psylocke was there. He wouldn't have been able to stop the car from killing Storm, even though he was aware of it. He's glad Storm is okay. 

There's someone pushing on the thin web of metal he's created to protect him. He turns, slowly, dream-like, most of his brain still stuck tearing buildings to shreds. 

A pair of blurry figures come into view, one a bright blue that brings a wave of familiar bitterness, the other an strange mix of silver and black.

They start to speak to him but then his mind is suddenly ripped back by Apocalypse. The lord is angry; something is going wrong with the transference. 

Erik can tell he's holding a conversation with Mystique, but he can't hear any of it. Apocalypse is a burning bridle on his mind, keeping him focused on his task.

He loves the power, the ability to crush the world at his feet, to make everyone fear him. He loves being connected to the other horsemen, even though they're muffled and dim, as if they were behind a layer of cloth.

They are all linked by Apocalypse, but he keeps them separate, doesn't want them plotting together.

And that's the catch, isn't it. Apocalypse.

Erik is more powerful than ever, has a potential brotherhood at his side, and a clear purpose again. But Apocalypse is his master, pulling on his reins and dulling his mind. Using him like a mindless tool, meant only to destroy his targets.

Erik swore never to be used again.

Angel cries in the distance: “Psylocke!”.

She runs, heels clicking on the metal of the roof, drumming inside Erik’s brain. Angel swoops low and catches her as she jumps off the building. He throws her, a graceful arc, that makes Erik’s breath stop until she lands safely on the ship.

Her heels against the ship’s roof make a metallic shriek that tears Erik’s attention away from his task. Apocalypse doesn't instantly force him back; the lord must be focused on Charles. 

She cuts through the roof, metal buckling under her power. She and Angel stand tall, ready to leap down upon their heroic prey inside, and Erik feels a rush of pride in his fellow horsemen. They are as imposing and vicious as Azazel and Janos were.

Angel leaps into the ship, aggressive nature and grudge against the blue mutant driving him down, despite the tight squeeze of the hole he jumps through. Erik can feel his wings scrape against the ragged edges of the hole.

Then, the ship goes into a dive. Angel is thrown against the back and pinned there by the g forces of the sudden plummet. Erik’s stomach lurches with fear that Angel apparently doesn't feel, as he struggles to stand up and charge towards the X-men.

The blue mutant whisks the heroes away, leaving Angel to slam into the control boards. Erik can feel the ridges on his armor catch on the buttons of the boards. Psylocke is clinging to the top of the ship, too far away to help as the ship plunges closer to the earth.

Maybe if she'd cut a bigger hole, maybe if Angel hadn't attacked when the ship started to fall, maybe if his wings weren't so heavy…

No time for what ifs.

Erik pulls himself farther away from Mystique and the stranger, further away from the destruction he is wreaking. The pillars of earth falter slightly. He prays that Apocalypse will remain distracted as he does so, or else he will forced back into his work and Angel will be left to die.

Apocalypse doesn't respond. Erik focuses on the dead weight of the falling ship, the razor sharpness of Angel within. Psylocke leaps off the ship, ensuring her survival. He extends a shaking hand, ignoring Mystique’s surprise at the sudden movement. 

He pulls on Angel first. He’s careful not to grab his wings, latching onto his armor instead. He pins the mutant against the back of the ship, where he has the best chance of survival when the ship crashes.

He can't just stop the ship; his mind is still mostly locked into place by Apocalypse’s command. He doesn’t have enough power to stop the ship completely. He manages to slow its descent, but it is still moving dangerously fast. He makes sure Angel is secure, and then the ship hits earth.

As its nose crumples with impact, he directs the shards of metal away from Angel. He can't do anything about the shockwave, though, and he can feel Angel being slammed against the ship’s back wall. 

Most of the force from the impact exhausts itself on the front half of the ship, so when the battered hull finally settles into the crater it's created, Angel should be out of deadly danger.

But he hangs limp in his armor, dead weight in Erik’s grip. Erik isn't given time to wonder what's wrong with him, as Apocalypse comes tearing out of the pyramid. The transference must have failed, as he isn't in Charles body.

He roars, in the physical world, and inside Erik’s head. His iron grip turns Erik's mind back to destruction, painfully tight in the lord’s rage.

He looks down on Angel’s bloody body, pinned underneath the twisted remains of the ship, and hisses:

“Useless.”

The scornful dismissal of Angel, the most loyal of them all, is a painful confirmation of what they all knew: they are just tools, and Apocalypse will dispose of them if they are no longer useful.

They can feel their combined realization through the faint link. Apocalypse is angry, and will take it out on them. They are one horsemen down, leaving them weakened in the face of the X-men. They all stare at Apocalypse with a growing sense of dread.

Storm watches from her perch in a half destroyed building, Psylocke listens from where she's slumped on the sand. There's even a faint flicker of awareness from Angel, though there isn't any coherent thought. Being able to feel them in the back of his head gives him hope.

Mystique says something cutting about fighting, the silver mutant grabs her, and they disappear.

Apocalypse rants at Charles, his mind chasing the professor's, grip loosening on Erik’s. Psylocke braces herself to betray another employer. Storm argues with herself and hides away from the oncoming fight.

Apocalypse breaks the sliver mutant’s leg and begins choking Mystique. A wave of hero worship changes Storm’s uncertainty to determination.

Erik tears his mind free from Apocalypse, and the field loops fall to earth. He tears apart the metal screen that protects and cages him, and levitates towards the fight. 

As he begins to throw debris at Apocalypse, the power the lord gave him fades. He grits his teeth and keeps throwing girders at Apocalypse, despite their ineffectiveness.

The fight is a haze; all he knows is that he has to keep fighting. X-men come and go, a boy screams, Charles gurgles blood. Psylocke rolls her shoulder, strained muscles complaining, and considers joining the fight. 

Charles mutters something and then a red haired girl is walking on air. The atmosphere burns, a fiery bird devouring Apocalypse. Erik sends another wave of girders down, and these hit, piercing Apocalypse as he heals around them.

Storm joins him in the sky, a glowing goddess, and sends her lighting down upon Apocalypse. The girders glow bright orange as the energy hits, and the smell of burning flesh fills the air.

There's one final surge of power from the fire girl and Apocalypse burns away. A sudden silence falls over the battlefield as Erik and Storm descend. She meets his eyes and he nods, an understanding passing between them.

As the link with Apocalypse fades, he can feel Psylocke turn away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter the plot independent of the movie begins.


	6. humans are pigs, I hope you know that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented! You're all bringing up some lovely stuff I didn't even think about and I plan to write those suggestions in.
> 
> This chapter includes some flashbacks of what happened to the first brotherhood. To make it easier to read, I collected those flashbacks into a separate fic. It's part of the series now, but you don't have to read it if you don't want to. However, it will have more information on the flashbacks than this fic does, so if the flashbacks seem interesting, go ahead and take a look!
> 
> Whiny Scott makes an appearance. He seems kinda ooc but he is a kid who's probably in shock, so he's not acting that strangely, I don't think.
> 
> Also, more tw than usual, because of the flashbacks: torture, gore and death. If these make you uncomfortable, you can skip the large sections that are italicized.

\----------

Erik ignores the cheerful reunion behind him and turns to the wreckage that contains Angel. Storm follows him: they may not be mentally linked anymore, but she has become attuned to his movements.

 

He closes his eyes and focuses on the twisted lump of metal in front of him. The debris are intricately intertwined; if he starts pulling random pieces out he could crush Angel. He carefully begins levitating pieces away, slowly, so that if something begins to shift he can stop it.

 

Storm watches nervously, hissing as more of Angels body, and injures, are revealed. One arm is twisted wrongly and he's bleeding from a nasty cut on his head. There's deep gashes on his torso, bleeding through his armor. 

 

Fittingly, the metal wings are unharmed, through slightly duller.

 

He's freed Angel halfway when the X-man behind him speaks up. It’s the boy who shoots energy out of his eyes, self righteous and angry.

 

“Why bother pulling him out of there?”

 

Storm tenses and looks to Erik for the order to attack. He remains silent and focused on his work. Storm follows his lead and ignores the X-man, though he can see her jaw clenched in anger.

 

The X-man pushes at Erik. It's weak, doesn't even move him, but that the boy would dare touch him makes his blood boil. Storm growls, and the air fills with the smell of ozone.

 

“He tried to kill us, and you're digging him out of there? I who you are,  _ magneto,  _ and I think you're digging him out to help you attack us!”

 

It's a laughable suggestion, Angel isn't in any state to fight right now, let alone stand up. But the X-man is filled with adrenaline and anger, and he knows Magneto as an enemy, so his paranoia fills in the blanks.

 

The gaggle of heroes behind have taken notice of the one-sided confrontation. The children look frightened and worried. Charles leverages himself up and starts approaching them, always the peacemaker.

 

“Scott? What are you doing?”

 

Erik knows he can't attack the X-man, as much as he wants to. If he did so, then he couldn't get Angel or Storm out of here safely. So he settles for his other way of fighting: words.

 

Charles steps up to their little group, takes in Storm’s defensive posture, Scott’s aggressive stance.

 

Erik grins, a shark smile; all scaly skin and dead eyes. It's not joy but satisfaction: he’s got Charles where he wants him now.

 

“For all your talk of love and forgiveness, your student is attacking us and espousing leaving a man to die. What have you been teaching them in that school of yours?”

 

Charles reddens and the boy sputters. But Charles is a telepath, and he cannot dispute that what Erik has said is true, for the moment. Scott is the aggressor, and Erik is trying to save a life.

 

Erik turns back to the crashed ship. Angel is almost free, and this section of the ship is more tedious than before. Charles will restrain his student, allowing him to finish his work.

 

“Storm, will you hover over the wreckage and grab him when he's free, please?”

 

Storm nods and, with one last glare at Scott, levitates away. Erik continues delicately stripping metal away, sometimes only pieces as small as a finger.

 

Finally, the last hull piece is pulled away. Angel is a bloody mess, and Storm’s face is mournful as she gets an arm under his back. Erik gives her a hand, lifting the heavy metal wings with his power.

 

Slowly, she carries Angel out of the crater and sets him next to Erik. The smell of his blood hangs over them, and she summons a wave of wind, clearing away the irony tang.

 

Erik is not a healer, but he kneels down at Angel’s side nonetheless. The flicker of consciousness he'd felt across the link before it faded tells him Angel is at least somewhat aware of his surroundings.

 

He gently takes Angel’s hand, the one on his uninjured right arm. The contact may help comfort him and keep him calm, and that's about all Erik can do for him right now. 

 

The other X-men have joined Scott and Charles behind them. The younger ones, the fire girl and the blue teleporter, see Angel’s injuries and flinch away, regret on their faces. Hank’s face is hard as he puts his hands in their shoulders in comfort.

 

Erik presses Angel’s hand into Storm’s freeing himself. He feels the injured man’s fingers twitch as he does so, and is glad he took his hand.

 

\-------------------

 

_ He hasn't seen his brotherhood in days. Emma wasn't with them when they were captured, he has no idea where she is.  Janos, Azazel, and Angel were with him, but they were taken out of the cell, and they haven't been returned yet.  _

 

_ Erik startles when the door opens; he wasn't really expecting them to ever return.  _

 

_ The bulk of a guard casts a monstrous shadow over the dark cell. He throws a person in; the rags of a fine suit and the swath of long, now greasy hair marks the newcomer as Janos. _

 

_ He manages to catch himself before he hits the floor, landing on his hands and knees. The guard pulls the door shut and the cell goes dark again. Erik moves towards Janos slowly, letting his eyes adjust, so that he doesn't run into him. _

 

_ Janos is gasping, his arms shaking as they try to support his weight. When Erik reaches out to help him, the injured mutant ends up toppling over and into him. Erik lets it happen, trying to hold him up. _

 

_ There's something wet seeping into Erik’s shirt. Janos trembles against him and struggles to breath, a ragged noise occasionally interrupted by a wet gurgle. He's bleeding, probably internally as well as externally. He may even have a punctured lung. _

 

_ Erik doesn't say anything, he doesn't have any words to say. They brought Janos back here to die, and there’s nothing Erik can do to change that. His captors are trying to make a point, and succeeding. _

 

_ He doesn't let go of Janos, even though his shirt is soaked through with blood. It must be the right thing to do, as Janos clings to him, burying his face in Erik’s neck. Erik is thankful Janos doesn't try to speak: his throat is so tight he wouldn't be able to respond. _

 

_ There's less rasping and more gurgling. The blood seems to flow slower, and Janos shakes less and less. Finally, he goes still. Erik cradled the cooling body to his chest, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. _

 

_ He doesn't let them fall, not here. He just sits, numb, holding the body of his loyal follower. He glares into the darkness, imagining his tormentors, and swears vengeance.   _

 

_ Another oath to add to the pile; he wonders if there is wrath enough in the world to fulfill them all. _

 

_ \---------------------- _

 

He tears himself out of the memory; it’s Angel bleeding at his feet, not Janos. Angel can still be saved, but he has to be taken away from this barren battlefield if he is to survive. Erik leaves Storm with him and steps up to Charles.

 

“Professor.”

 

_ Respect him, don’t antagonize his followers, or you and yours will not make it out of here. _

 

“Angel needs medical attention. If your team is ready to leave, perhaps we should go?”

 

Behind them, Moira Mactaggert waves at an incoming helicopter. It’s got a government seal on the side, and looks large enough to carry both the X-men and the horsemen. 

 

Charles turns and looks at the helicopter, which begins to descend. Moira trots back towards them, grinning. 

 

“Of course, Erik.

Come on everyone, into the helicopter.”

 

Erik returns to storm. She's still holding Angel’s hand, looking lost. He's suddenly reminded that she is very young to be in this type of battle, and with how quickly she befriended her fellow horsemen, she must be taking Angel’s injuries hard. 

 

He levitates Angel, latching onto his wings and his armor. Storm stands with him as he floats, hands still connected. 

 

“Why don't you go with the X-men and find somewhere for us to put Angel?”

 

Erik smiles at her and she smiles back, relieved to have a purpose, and to get away from Angel’s open wounds. She runs after the other teens, and Erik makes sure she gets into the helicopter before he begins moving Angel.

 

He begins pulling the injured mutant after him, slowly, trying not to jar him. It's a slow trip, because of the treacherous ground and Angel’s wounds. When he finally makes it to the door of the helicopter, Storm greets him, looking worried.

 

“I don't know if there's enough room for him.”

 

The X-men are strapping into the seats along the walls. There’s open space on the floor, but putting Angel there would get him thrown around and potentially aggravate his injuries.

 

There's only three seats left on the back wall, probably reserved for the horsemen by Storm. But Angel isn't going to be able to sit up. 

 

Erik sees Scott peering out of the helicopter, can feel the X-man waiting for him to abandon Angel’s dead weight.

 

_ I refuse to abandon another follower.  _

 

“We’re going to have to get inventive, Storm.”

 

He enters the helicopter, Storm trailing after him. He ignores the hateful or fearful looks of the X-men and moves to sit down. Storm sits next to him, leaving only one seat open.

 

Carefully, Erik leviates Angel into the helicopter, trying not to run him into any people or walls. He keeps a close eye on the X-men Angel passes; he doesn't trust them not to knock him off course.

 

He has to watch the metal wings, of course. He doubts Charles would be happy if he accidentally cut one of his children.

 

_ He still doesn’t understand it, why Charles insists on bringing them into war. He does know why Charles would take them in, that urge to protect, to allow them to grow up happy. _

 

_ But that is an illusion, a layer of padding around them that will eventually break and throw them out into the unforgiving world. They will utterly unprepared when that does happen. _

 

_ Sometimes, Erik wishes he could live in a calm, secluded house, watch his followers grow happy rather than watch them bleed out. _

 

_ But he is not made for that, and neither are his followers. They are the detritus of the world; chewed up by it and spat back out sharper, too sharp for people to swallow. They would never be able to live in a false paradise of green lawns and flower beds. _

 

_ Someone must care for them, the too-old, too-sharp, too-angry children of the world. _

 

_ (All of Erik’s children have died young.) _

 

_ He wonders how long before he hits his expiration date, how long before the world tires of his sharpness and ends him.  _

 

Erik looks away for Charles and tries to focus solely on Angel. Once he reaches the seats, Erik turns him so that he’s lying on his side, wings pointed out into the open space in the middle of the helicopter. 

 

Angel whimpers as Erik gently folds the wings, his injuries and strained muscles jarred by the movement. Once he's floating in front of him and Storm, Erik carefully lays him across their laps.

 

His feet settle onto the empty seat. His torso, heavy in its armor, presses down on Erik. Angel’s head lands on Storm’s thigh and, thankfully, she doesn't protest; instead she runs her hands through his hair and murmurs comfort.

 

Erik is going to have to hold the wings up the whole trip, letting them drag will pull on Angel and possible injure him further, but at least they're not in anyone’s way.

 

Erik looks up, around the helicopter, taking stock of their surroundings and, instinctively, making sure everyone is there. He glares at Scott and avoids Charles's eyes.

 

The room shutters as the helicopter takes off. Angel cries out, Storm trying to shush him. Erik hesitantly wraps an arm around his torso. Angel screams as he puts pressure on the wounds, but he has to keep Angel still or he might roll right off their laps.

 

Angel’s cries grate on his nerves, because he hates to hear his followers in pain, but also because he’s drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

 

He doubts Charles would let them be thrown out for being a nuisance, but he's learned that irritating your captors is never a good thing.

 

Once he's stilled his arm, Angel quiets. The eyes of every X-man are on them and Erik feels hunted. Storm distracts herself from their stares by keeping Angel calm.

 

Erik doesn't that have excuse, so he looks back up at the X-men.

 

Closest to them sits the teleporting mutant. His red eyes are wide as he stares at the horsemen and his tail flicks back and forth, a nervous tick he remembers Azazel having.

 

\------------

 

_ They throw Azazel in a couple hours later. Erik lets go of Janos’s body for the first time in order to reach the red mutant. _

 

_ The cell had already stank of blood, but it had faded with Janos’s life. Now the stink is back, sickly sweet, and Erik knows Azazel is a dead man. _

 

_ He scrambles to his side anyways. Azazel grins, teeth shining in the darkness. He abruptly remembers that Azazel has perfect night vision. _

 

_ “Magneto.” _

 

_ Erik nods to show he's listening and tries not to look at the deep cut on his stomach, weeping blood. He’s glad of the darkness: in the light he would surely be able to see the glint of exposed organs. _

 

_ “I would not say you are a good man, none of us are. But you are a better man than any I have served. After so many years of harsh masters, I am glad to die in service of a kind one.” _

 

_ Erik doesn’t speak, but he takes the hand that Azazel offers. The teleporter grins at him, sharp and vicious even in his weakened state, and his tail curls around Erik’s waist. _

 

_ He looks past Erik’s body and his glowing eyes grow sad. His grip on Erik tightens. _

 

_ “Ah, my beautiful Janos. He never could keep his mouth shut. But I suppose he would rather have died fighting than survive submissive.” _

 

_ He looks up at Erik, suddenly vulnerable. It’s the first time Erik has ever seen him look afraid. _

 

_ “He didn’t die alone? You were with him?” _

 

_ “Yes.” _

 

_ Azazel relaxes, looks relieved.  _

 

_ “If I regretted anything, I would regret not dying alongside him.” _

 

_ “You are dying with me, Azazel, for me. I will not forget that, and I will not let anyone else forget either.” _

 

_ Azazel smiles, strangely soft, considering his fangs. _

 

_ “I always did want to be remembered.” _

 

\--------------

 

Erik feels like a brick has been dropped on his chest. He can't breath, staring at this young mutant.

 

_ He teleports the same way as Azazel. He has the same tail. _

 

He makes eye contact with the blue mutant. Tries to smile, through he feels like his heart is breaking. It’s probably more frightening than friendly.

 

“What's your name?”

 

The mutant looks at the fire girl next to him, as if he expects Erik to be talking to someone other than him. Finally he looks back at Erik, having realized that he is the one being addressed.

 

“Um...I'm Kurt, Kurt Wagner.”

 

He has a heavy German accent, and it's only made stronger by the sharp set of fangs in his mouth. They're look exactly like Azazel’s.

 

“That's a very interesting power you have, do you know how it works?”

 

Scott interrupts:

 

“Don't talk to him, Kurt! He's evil!”

 

Erik is very close to using the boy’s ridiculous sunglasses to muzzle him.

 

He's suddenly distracted by a presence in his mind. He’s about to snap at Charles when he realizes this is someone different. 

 

_ Emma? _

 

_ No. Jean. The redhead next to Kurt. _

 

_ Hello Jean. Would you mind telling me what you're doing in my head? _

 

_ Making sure you don't mean to hurt Kurt. _

 

Then she's gone. It's only after the surreal mental encounter that he realizes he’s still wearing his helmet.

 

Fear seizes him. 

 

_ She could reach me through the helmet. And she had no qualms about entering my mind without permission.  _

 

_ How powerful is she? _

 

She speaks up in the real world:

 

“You can talk to him, Kurt. He doesn't want to hurt you.”

 

Kurt smiles at her hesitantly and turns back to Erik. 

 

“I don't know how it works, I've never met anyone who had the same power. But you recognized it, do you know someone like me?”

 

“I did.”

 

Kurt’s face lights up and he leans forwards.

 

“What are they like? Can I meet them?”

 

“He died years ago. He was highly skilled, amazingly disciplined, a vicious fighter, a loyal follower.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

Erik feels himself go cold. Here, in this government helicopter, surrounded by heroes who hated the brotherhood, he doesn't want to speak of it.

 

But if this boy is Azazel’s son, then he deserves to know.

 

“He was part of my brotherhood. We were captured by the government. They wanted to know our plans, but we wouldn't talk. They separated my followers from me, interrogated and experimented on them. 

 

When they didn't betray me, when they had ripped all the information from their bodies that they could, they returned them to me. They hoped that watching them die would break me.”

 

Kurt has gone pale. The helicopter is silent. He looks at Charles, Hank, and Mystique, the survivors of that time, and feels a familiar rage and sorrow boil inside him. 

 

He wants them to know what happened. He wants them to know what pigs the humans are.

 

“Janos was the first. He died in my arms.”

 

He turns back to Kurt. 

 

“He was Azazel’s lover. They brought Azazel back next, let him see Janos's body before he died, so that he would suffer knowing that his loved one was dead.

 

But he didn't regret fighting. He was loyal to the end, a brave man.”

 

Kurt’s eyes are filling with tears, his lip wobbling. 

 

Hank speaks up, looking sick.

 

“What happened to Angel?”

 

Erik smiles, a skull’s grimace.

 

“Ah, Angel. She was perhaps the strongest of the three, they hated her the most. No matter what they did to her, they couldn't get her to react. Janos screamed, Azazel threatened, but Angel was silent.

 

They cut her wings off, stabbed and burnt and beat her. But still, she looked down on them. When they brought her back to me, she walked on her own.”

 

_ She had fit her name then, standing tall, haloed in light. Erik, sitting next to Azazel's body, had seen her and felt hope surge in him. Here she was, supporting herself, not fatally injured.  _

 

_ Maybe he won't lose her.  _

 

_ A gunshot echoes around the cell’s small space. _

 

_ She crumples as regally as she stood, graceful even as she falls. _

 

_ He reaches her as she hits the ground. There's a bullet wound on her torso, bleeding from both sides. It's gone straight through, she’ll bleed out in seconds.  _

 

_ There's nothing he can do. _

 

“They returned her whole, let me hope. She was within arms reach when they shot her.”

 

A tear runs down Charles’s cheek. 

 

Erik hates him then, mourning for Erik’s people while preaching that they should forgive, shouldn’t take revenge on the humans who torment them.

 

He pushes the anger down again and turns back to Kurt. He lets his voice turn soft again, not vibrating with rage and pain.

 

“I’m sorry, Kurt. we got off track. You wanted to know about your power, right?”

 

Kurt shudders, trying to bring himself back together, and nods.

 

“You teleport by creating a fold in space-time, which you push through, allowing you move incredible distances.”

 

Kurt stares at Erik in amazement. 

 

“You mean I can control the fabric of the universe?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Woah.”

 

Charles looks interested. The rest of the X-men look impressed. Kurt seems to have moved on from the horror of a moment ago.

 

The ship shudders again; they must be landing. Erik holds Angel tighter, bracing against the helicopter’s shaking. He whimpers, but the landing goes reasonably smoothly.

 

The X-men begin unbuckling themselves. Charles opens the door, revealing the green lawns of his mansion. The X-men cheer as they leave the dark of the helicopter and step into the sunlight.

 

Erik waits until all of the heroes have left, including Charles and Mystique. Storm looks at him expectantly. He lifts Angel off of their laps and holds him hovering in the center of the helicopter.

 

Storm stands up, groans, and stretches. Erik follows her, still focused on keeping Angel afloat and his wings supported. She’s eager to leave, bouncing on the soles of her feet. He gestures her forwards, Angel floating ahead of her.

 

She steps out and Erik follows her. The sun is painfully bright for a moment, then the mansion comes into view. Storm gasps at the burnt out husk of a once magnificent building.

 

There's a camp set up in front of it; a cluster of tents, one of them marked with a Red Cross. There are people scurrying from tent to tent, some students and some adults in medical outfits.

 

It seems that, despite the mansion’s destruction, Charles has no intention of moving his students. It is summer; they can live in tents comfortably for now.

 

As he and storm approach, students begin to stop and stare. His Apocalypse-given armor isn't as bright as the outfit he had worn in his earlier years, but it's still recognizable. 

 

The medics begin to slow as well, most of them looking nervous. They should be, they're mostly humans. Some of the students look fearful as well. Erik sighs; Charles isn't going to be happy that Erik is frightening his children, even if he's not doing it on purpose.

 

Storm notices the rising unease in the crowd and slows down to stay close to his side. Erik doesn't slow his steady stride, doesn't acknowledge the tension in the people he's approaching. 

 

He steps up to the large tent with the Red Cross on it, a couple students skittering out of his way. He sets Angel on an empty gurney and looks the nearest medic in the eye.

 

“He needs immediate medical help.”

 

Storm is pressing close to his side, fully aware of the dangerous situation. It's obvious the medic recognizes Magneto; they may refuse to treat Angel because he is associated with Erik.

 

If that happens, Erik has no idea what he'll do. He can't take Angel to a hospital, he can't treat him by himself. He would be given no option but to force a medic to help him, which is sure to bring the X-men down on him.

 

Fortunately, the medic steps forwards after a long moment of hesitation and looks over Angel. They poke at the armor, peer at his mangled left arm, and move his head to the side to look at the cuts. 

 

Then, they begin shouting orders at the other medics, sending them into a frenzy of white outfits and medical equipment. They turn back to Erik and order him fearlessly:

 

“We can't work with that armor on him, take it off.”

 

Despite his anger at a human telling him what to do, he must cooperate if he wants Angel to continue receiving care. So he doesn't complain, just turns to Angel and begins stripping the armor off of him.

 

Storm catches the pieces as his power rips them off and begins piling them out of the way. Angel screams as the movement jars his wounds; a nurse comes by and injects him with something that must be painkiller, as he quiets a moment later.

 

Erik has removed the last piece of armor, leaving a patchwork of black undersuit, bloody red wounds, and the occasional patch of skin, when Charles arrives. 

 

The professor wheels into the tent and clears his throat, as if Erik wasn't already aware of him. Only once both Erik and Storm have turned to him does he speak.

 

“I've had beds prepared for you and Storm, if you want them. It's been a long day; you should rest.”

 

Erik doesn't want to leave Angel alone, surrounded by enemies, but he knows Charles won't let anyone attack him.

 

“Will you stay with him?”

 

“Yes, Erik. Now go get some sleep.”

 

Erik and Storm are taken to a small tent on the edge of the encampment. It's got four cots in it, two of which are already occupied. Mystique and Hank look up from their cots as they enter. 

 

Erik ignores them; Storm follows his lead and picks a cot without acknowledging the X-men sharing their tent. Mystique tries to speak to them once or twice, but they continue to ignore her.

 

Erik’s bed is across from Storm’s. As he struggles to fall asleep, he notices that she's tossing and turning, as if she can't get comfortable. He remembers her bed in the pyramid, the protective nest she had created for herself.

 

He's not using his blanket; he pulls it off the floor and puts it at the foot of her bed. She hesitates a moment, but quickly unfolds it and wraps herself up in it. She quiets and quickly falls asleep, cocooned in three layers of covers. 

  
Erik's smiles at her and drifts off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Psylocke will return in a couple chapters.


	7. Hi peter, I'm dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some of Angel's backstory and the long awaited I'm your son reveal!
> 
> tw: kidnapping
> 
> In my version of Angel's backstory, he didn't willingly become a cage fighter. His father discovered his mutation and basically sold him off. In this universe, mutant fighting rings aren't like human fights, they're more like illegal dog fights. As a result, Angel sometimes thinks of himself as less than human, and he understands the world in a very rigid way. He saw Apocalypse as a "master", like the masters of the different fighting rings, and he saw the horsemen as his fellow fighters. We'll see more of Angel's world later.
> 
> I guess I should also mention that this chapter is pretty supportive of Magneto's views. I don't espouse genocide, but to someone like Angel, Magneto is the first mutant-positive views he's probably ever heard, so it sounds great to him.

\-------

Angel is wracking up quite a debt.

 

He wakes up wrapped in clean bandages, covered with a pristine white sheet. There’s a dull twinge of pain, but it's blocked by what must be high quality, very expensive, painkillers. 

 

_ He can't remember the last time he had painkiller; it must have been when he was very young, before his father discovered his wings. He can just barely hear the rattle of pulls in a bottle, can almost see the bright orange of ibuprofen. _

 

There's a cast on his arm; it makes him nervous, partially because it restricts his movement but also because it means that limb will be out of commission for a while.

 

_ Mutants are like horses; if they break something, there's no healing them. The best they'll get is a quick bullet in the head. _

 

His wings are strapped to gurneys on either side of him, glimmering the unnatural silver of Apocalypse’s metal.

 

_ His father ties his wings down, binds them to his body. The soft new feathers crackle and buckle under his harsh grip. Warren screams, but no one helps him. His hands are tied too and he's thrown into a dirty van. He doesn't see his father again. _

 

But this medical facility is clean and high tech, he'll probably make a full recovery. He can remember Storm speaking to him, Erik holding him in place as the world shakes. They must have brought him here.

 

_ First they helped me conceal my wounds, risked bringing master Apocalypse down on themselves. Now they've gotten me medical care, taken the time to bring me here and convinced the medics to treat me. _

 

_ I can't repay this much debt. It's too much. What do they expect from me? _

 

There's the swish of fabric as a medic enters the room. Their face is harsh and unfriendly; they seem decidedly unhappy to have Angel in their space. Angel tenses, aware of his helpless position.

 

Fortunately, Magneto and Storm follow the medic in. Storm is smiling at him, Magneto isn't quite as expressive but seems pleased nonetheless.

 

Storm leans over him, concern on her face. Something twists in his stomach. It's been a long time since someone was concerned for him. It's weakness, and it might get her hurt later. 

 

_ But it's keeping me alive, so I'm glad for it. _

 

“How do you feel, Angel?”

 

He tries to speak and discovers that talking is a lot harder than thinking. His mouth feels like it's been stuffed full of cotton and he can't get his lips to move right. Finally, he manages to reply.

 

“I’m...okay.”

 

Storm grins at him, concern fading away into relief. Magneto leans in next to her, blue eyes intent. Angel wilts slightly under the intensity. 

 

“Angel. We are in the X-men’s medical camp. We are their guests. Do you understand?”

 

Angel does understand. They're in the enemy's home territory, at a disadvantage. Magneto is telling him not to resist or attack those around him, at least not yet.

 

“I understand.”

 

Magneto nods, satisfied. 

 

“Good. Storm, stay here while I go get us food.”

 

As Magneto leaves, Storm pulls up a chair. As the medic begins to advance towards Angel, he's suddenly very relieved that he's not alone. 

 

Storm chatters, cheerful meaningless words about the weather or the tents. The medic is pressing something metal to Angel's chest. It's irritatingly cold and having a stranger this close is making him twitchy.

 

He tries not to move, but a few feathers twitch anyways. It's reflexive, he can't stop them. Fortunately, the medic doesn't see them.

 

Angel thinks things have been going pretty well when the medic shifts higher up on his body. Without warning, the stranger reaches for his neck. Every instinct in him screams as hands touch the most vulnerable kill spot on his body. 

 

_ He's almost gotten away, when they opened the van back he kicked the man and ran. He's in a strange building, but he doesn't stop to look around. He just heads for the light of a open door. _

 

_ Before he can reach it, he's body slammed by a large man from behind. He screams and thrashes, pinned underneath the adult’s bulk. A hand covers his mouth, muffling his cries.  _

 

_ He bites at it and tastes blood. The man yelps and pulls it away, but it returns a moment later. this time at the back of his head, grinding his face into the dirty floor. _

 

_ “We got a lively little fighter here, he's got a bright future in the ring.” _

 

His wings respond to the hands on his neck. His feathers flare out with a screech of metal, and he throws the bulk of his wings against the straps. The medic yells and jumps away. 

 

With a final tearing noise, the straps rip apart and his wings are free. He flaps them once, twice, enjoying the freedom of movement. He doesn't get up from the gurney; he's already alarmed the medic, he doesn't want to dig his grave even deeper. 

 

Storm hasn't jumped away like the medic. Her hand lands on her shoulder and she weaves her way around his wing to stand next to him. 

 

“Hey, stay calm. I'm here, you don't need to freak out.”

 

Past her, he can see the medic yelling into a walkie talkie frantically. 

 

_ Great. I fucked up. Magneto’s going to be mad, they might kick us out.  _

 

Speak of the devil, Magneto comes through the tent flap, carrying three plates of food. When he sees Angel’s wings taking up most of the tent and the human cowering in the corner, he sighs. 

 

Fortunately, he doesn't look angry; instead, he looks like a tired parent whose three young children have just thrown paint all over the walls. 

 

He sets the plates down on a small table near the door and steps further into the tent. The medic startles and pushes further away from the horsemen. 

 

Magneto is about to speak, probably trying to deescalate the situation, when the X-men come crashing into the tent.

 

The blue demon who ruined his wing materializes in the tent, a blue furry beast and a boy wearing red glasses clinging to him. They land in front of the human medic and take up fighting stances.

 

The beast snarls:

 

“Magneto. Get back or we'll put you down.”

 

Erik sighs and steps back.

 

“You're always so quick to jump to conclusions, Hank. This has all been a simple misunderstanding.”

 

The medic, encouraged by the wall of X-men protecting them, squawks:

 

“He broke free from the restraints and was about to attack me!”

 

“No, I wasn't going to attack you, I just wanted to be able to move!”

 

The blue beast snarls:

 

“Erik, you know you can't let your people cause problems like this. You're criminals, you can't expect us to trust you.”

 

Magneto bristles.

 

“My people aren't causing problems. Your human tied his wings down!”

 

“And they went for my neck! If I wanted to attack them, they'd be bleeding by now.”

 

The human whimpers at that. 

 

Storm pipes up, adding in her support:

 

“I've been with Angel the whole time. Even when he broke his wings free, he didn't try to attack the medic, just moved them around a little. Look at me, I'm right next to him. If he had used them to attack, I'd be cut up.”

 

The blue beast is not convinced. Before he can continue yelling at them, the blue demon pulls him aside. Angel growls, low in his chest; he can still feel his flesh shredding and burning against the electrified fence.

 

But he seems to be on their side; he’s trying to calm the beast down. After a long moment of hand waving and enthusiastic argument, the beast turns back to them.

 

“Nightcrawler vouches for you. I'll keep this situation under wraps for now, but you have to tie his wings down. Our medics need to be kept safe.”

 

Angel snarls; trying to push down the fear that fills him at those words. Magneto looks insulted and steps in front of Angel protectively.

 

“You would ask him to paralyze the most delicate part of his body? You would ask him to restrain his gift?”

 

The beast sneers.

 

“He's lucky I haven't handcuffed him to the bed.”

 

He turns and storms out of the tent, leaving no room for dissent. Magneto glares after him, looking rebellious. Angel recognizes that he's about to do something stupid that'll get them murdered by the X-men.

 

“Magneto, it's okay. They can tie my wings down, I'll be fine.”

 

Erik turns to him and mutters:

 

“You shouldn't have to restrain yourself, you shouldn't have to hide.”

 

Angel feels a surge of appreciation for this man who truly wants him, and his kind, to be happy and free.

 

“I shouldn't have to, but I do. That's just reality, and I'm used to it.”

 

Magneto nods, but looks mournful. The medic refuses to approach until Angel’s wings are restrained, so the X-man in glasses ties his wings down. 

 

This time, he uses heavy metal chains rather than fabric. Angel hisses as they grind against his feathers, but doesn't complain. The glasses X-man leaves as soon as Angel is restrained and the medic reassured. 

 

The blue demon remains. Angel pushes down the hatred boiling him at the sight of him. After all, he did calm the beast down for them, so Angel owes him for that.

 

Magneto, still tense from the confrontation, hands him and storm their breakfast. Then, he takes a seat as far away from everyone else as possible. Storm returns to her seat at Angel’s bedside, cheerful as ever.

 

The blue demon doesn't leave. He fidgets in the corner of the tent as the horsemen eat. The medic returns to their work, poking and prodding at Angel, but he ignores them in favor of watching the demon.

 

Magneto finishes eating and also turns his attention to the demon as well. He stands up and walks over to the nervous x-man. 

 

“Thank you for helping us, Kurt.”

 

The demon smiled wanly at Erik and turns to look at Angel, tail twitching. He inches towards Angel, as if he wants to start a conversation. Angel pushes down the instinctive wave of hatred and reminds himself that the demon just helped them.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Angel doesn't wonders what the demon means by alright. He's not dying, he's not in terrible pain, so he guesses that qualifies.

 

“I'm fine.”

 

The demon smiles and shifts from foot to foot nervously.

 

“I wanted to apologize for what I did to your wings.”

 

Angel winces at the memory of his flesh shredding and burning. Losing his wings was probably the worst thing to ever happen to him, worse even than being put in the cage for the first time. 

 

But the demon didn't have any other choice; Angel has said it himself.

 

_ Fight, or they'll kill us both. _

 

And he does have his wings back, even if they are heavier and more painful than his old ones. 

 

“You did what you had to do. And they're better now, see?”

 

He flexes the metal feathers, causing the medic to start yelling again. The demon smiles at him, a real smile this time, full of fangs.

 

“I need to go, I'm on the lunch shift today.”

 

Magneto smiles at him as he leaves. It's intriguing; he doesn't usually warm up to people so quickly. But the demon is disarmingly earnest and kind, so maybe that's it.

 

The tent falls into a tense silence. Storm eats quietly, still keeping a comforting hand on Angel's shoulder. Magneto hovers in the middle of the tent, seemingly unwilling to sit down.

 

The medic finishes prodding at Angel and leaves the tent. As they brush through the fabric flaps, they run into someone. After a moment of shuffling, a stranger comes in. Judging from the armor they're wearing, they're probably another X-man.

 

Magneto twitches when he sees them; as if he recognizes them but can't quite remember who they are.

 

“Hey!”

 

Whoever they are, they're certainly friendly. Storm is staring at their hair, a metallic silver, similar to her white Mohawk.

 

“So, um, I guess you don't remember me? I'm Quicksilver, at least that's my mutant name, my real name is Peter.”

 

Magneto puts on a pleasant, if strained, smile and extends his hand to shake.

 

“I'm sorry, I don't remember meeting you before.”

 

“Oh, wow. Okay. Well, I just kinda talked to you a few hours ago at the big battle end of the world thing, but I also rescued you from the pentagon a few years ago?”

 

That sparks something in Magneto’s head.

 

“Ah, yes. The speedster, right?”

 

“Yeah. Do you really not remember talking to me a couple hours ago? You must have been really whacked out, man.”

 

“I'm afraid I don't remember much from that time at all. Most of my mind was under Apocalypse’s control then.”

 

“Wow. Glad I didn't tell you there, then.”

 

Magneto’s face creases with confusion. The X-man flinches and looks guilty, as if they let something slip that they shouldn't have.

 

“Tell me what?”

 

Peter fidgets, but they've walked themself into a corner, and Magneto isn't going to let it go.

 

“Well, this is kinda rushed and I don't really know how to say this but...ithinkyou’remydad.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ithinkyou’remydad.”

 

“What?”

 

It's weaker this time, and Magneto takes a step back.

 

“Ithink—”

 

“No, no I get it. I guess I should have known after you broke me out.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

The x-men stands and stares silently at him. Magneto stares back, equally silent. Angel and Storm share a confused, concerned look.

 

_ Magneto has a kid? His kid is an X-man? _

 

“So you're okay with that? With me being your kid?”

 

Magneto steps forwards suddenly, a slight smile on his face.

 

“Of course I am glad to have you as my child. I'm just hesitant because I lost one of my children a few days ago.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“It's okay.”

 

“If you don't mind me asking, if you're so eager to take me back now, why weren't you there when I was growing up? Why weren't you there for my mom?”

 

“Do you really think having one of the most wanted men in the world as your father would have been good for you?”

 

“When you put it that way, it makes sense.”

 

They stare at each other and the atmosphere becomes intensely awkward. Magneto fiddles with his fork. The speedster taps his foot at superspeed.

 

Storm mouths at Angel:

 

“Say something!”

 

_ What am I supposed to say?  _

 

“Why is your hair silver?”

 

_ Not a good plan. Not at all. _

 

Magneto glares at Angel. Angel wilts; he hadn't meant to insult his kid. He just hadn't thought before he'd spoken.

 

But the X-man looks relieved. Probably because any conversation is better than awkward silence.

 

“I dunno. It's been like that since I was born.”

 

Storm smiles at them, her usual kind self.

 

“I think it looks really cool.”

 

“Thanks! Yours is awesome too!”

 

She blushes. Magneto steps in a minute later. 

 

“Peter, this is Storm, and this is Angel.”

 

“Yeah, I remember you guys.”

 

Their face darkens for a moment and they  looks at Angel. Then they're back to their hyperactive, cheerful self.

 

_ Did I do something to them? _

 

He closes his eyes, tries to focus. He still can't remember ever seeing them before. 

 

_ Oh well. I've had people hate me for very little reason before, it's nothing new. _

 

Magneto is still grasping for something to say. Fortunately, the X-man saves him from his awkwardness.

 

“So, you want to go eat lunch and talk?”

 

Magneto smiles at his son. It’s strange; Angel and Storm hadn’t seen him smile at all while he was a horseman.

 

“I would love to, Peter.”

 

The pair leave the tent. Storm turns to Angel.

 

“How did Magneto get a son?!?”

 

Angel snorts.

 

“I assume the usual way, Storm.”

 

She slaps his leg.

 

“I know that! But it’s so weird to think about.”

 

“Well, he does seem to be good at picking up strays, like the demon.”

 

“You mean Kurt.”

 

“Is that his name?”

 

“Yeah. He told us in the helicopter on the way here. He seems nice.”

 

“They seem tolerable, but I will be glad when we get out of here.”

 

She sighs and sits down again.

  
“I’m sure we’ll be leaving soon. The X-men don’t seem very happy to have us here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Magneto would care about Peter, because he is his son, but it think it would be really awkward most of the time. And, since Peter is an X-man and thus his enemy, they aren't going to have a perfect relationship.


	8. I'm not abandoning you, I'm just leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to suddenly drop off the face of the earth, guys! up until now I was able to keep up a steady update schedule, but my life suddenly got very busy. I'll try to keep updating, but the updates won't be scheduled and there may be long stretches of time between updates. Sorry!
> 
> This chapter is kind of filler, but also has a deeper look into Angel's past. Keep in mind, he has been brought out of what was essentially a dog-fighting ring. the Master and the master are different people, capitalized Master means the master of Angel's ring, and is a character in his own right, who will show up later in the plot. lowercase master is applied to anyone who commands Angel, so it's used for both apocalypse and magneto. The pit refers to the entire fighting operation+the whatever building it's currently in, while the ring refers only to the meshed in fighting ring that we saw in the movie.
> 
> tw: this chapter is obviously very triggering, with implied death, torture, and abuse by the Master. I'd like to note that this entire story will deal with the fact that Angel has been essentially taught that he is subhuman because he's a mutant, so if dehumanization is a problem, maybe not the best to read on. (Angel also has PTSD so if that's triggering, don't read on. The symptoms he is displaying are distrust of everyone, dissociation and sometimes flashbacks.)
> 
> special thank you to Mae, for liking this story so much, and for encouraging me to continue writing it!

\--------

The sun has finally gone down, the camp becoming quiet and still. Storm has dragged a pair of cots into the medical tent, where her and Magneto have settled down to sleep.

 

Angel flexes, pressing his wings against the chains, testing their strength. He isn’t trying to escape, but he just can’t take being trapped anymore. It feels like the chains are multiplying, wrapping tighter and tighter around him like tentacles. He tries to breath, tries to stay calm, but they’re tightening around his chest, making it hard to draw in air.

 

His feathers screech, metal against metal, grinding against the chains. Storm jerks awake on the cot next to his bed. She’s up in an instant, mouth moving, no doubt spilling comforting words, trying to calm him down. He can’t hear her, not over the all consuming panic in his head. 

 

_ It’s not moving fast enough his wings are still tied down he can almost hear the cheering of crowds _ —

 

He begins to thrash, throwing his entire body into the movement as he attempts to free his wings.

 

“Angel!”

 

The voice cuts through the panic, calm and cutting and commanding in a way that only masters can be. It sends him crashing back into his body, back into reality. He collapses back onto the cot, forcing himself to go limp, even though he’s thrumming with tension.

 

He should have know he wouldn’t be free, wouldn't be let out of the chains. He’s a fighter, and always has been. The fact that his new master is a mutant doesn’t change anything.

 

Magneto steps further into the tent, frowning down at Angel.The light shining through the tent flap behind him turns him into a piece of art: harsh shadows curving like a modern art, mysterious and dangerous. Angel flinches, presses himself deeper into the cot.

 

After another, too-long moment, Magneto steps away from Angel. His frown deepens as he turns to Storm. Angel is relieved to have his intense eyes on someone other than him.

 

“Storm. I want you to freeze and break the chains.”

 

“But, the X-men...”

 

He takes her outstretched hands, holding onto her gently, comfortingly. Angel struggles to fit this kindness, the kindness Magneto had showed him when he was injured, the mercy of bringing him to a medic, with the cruelty that he must be hiding, as a master.

 

“We can’t stay here, Storm. ”

 

She sighs, relenting, and her shoulders slump. 

 

“Okay.”

 

She starts to turn away, towards Angel and the chains, but he stops her.

 

“I want you to stay here.”

 

Hurt fills her face and she rips her hands out of his.

 

“Why? You don’t want me with you?”

 

His faces softens and he hunches his shoulders slightly, suddenly looking vulnerable.

 

“No! It's just...dangerous to be with me. It’s safer here, there’s people your age, you can get an education…”

 

She hesitates, looks down, whispers:

 

“But...they’re not like us. They don’t understand, they won’t like me.”

 

“Some of them like you already! Kurt is a lovely boy, he could use a good friend like you. And I need you to stay here to keep an eye on Peter for me, don’t I?”

 

She smiles, slowly, and begins to straighten up. Angel can't decide whether to be glad or sad that Magneto convinced her. He glad that she'll be here, where she won't be forced to fight. But he's also afraid, because her leaving means he'll be alone with Magneto. All the fights will fall on his shoulders, and so will the master’s rage.

 

The selfish, terrified part of him desperately wants her to stay, so he's not alone. But it's not his decision to make, so he can't do anything but keep his mouth shut and hope Magneto won't be one of the bad masters.

 

She touches the chains, tentatively. Her delicate fingers shift against the metal, tense as she frowns at the links.

 

“If I'm not careful I'll get his wings too. This might take some time.”

 

Magneto leans closer and pats her shoulder comfortingly.

 

“Do what you need to. I'll keep watch.”

 

He steps outside of the tent, but Angel can see his shadow falling through the flap and onto the ground inside the tent: A subtle reminder that he is there, that Angel isn’t free.

 

Storm has wrapped her hands around the chain, her power pulsing, sending small waves of ice over the metal. Angel shifts, pulling his feathers as far away from the chains as possible. He doesn't have any nerves in his wings, he couldn't feel it if they did start to freeze, but he still doesn't want them to get hurt.

 

He thinks, for a moment, of speaking to her, of crying out for help. The X-men are no friends of Magneto, maybe they would take Angel away from him. But they have shown their dislike for Angel before, they might turn out to be worse masters than Magneto. Like always, Angel is trapped.

 

He doesn't say anything, just sits in silence, listening to the quiet crackling of the ice and the soft thudding of Magento pacing outside. Storm slowly works ice over the chains, the metal cracking under her touch. Finally, his right wing is free. He's about to swing it out wide, glory in the feeling of freedom, but she presses her hands against it and tells him no.

 

He's still got enough humanity left in him not to go through with it. She knows he’d shred her if he did, and she's trusting him not too.

 

_ It's been a long time since someone trusted him, and for good reason. _

 

_ She's new, had lived outside for most of her life, didn't know how things worked in the pit. She decided he was the one she would cling to, the one she would want to mentor her, and he allowed it because it amused him. _

 

_ (Maybe because he was lonely, too. You can only fight your friends so many times before they begin to hate you. They knew he didn't have a choice, but that doesn't change the fact that he's the one slicing them to pieces in the ring. He understands, he doesn't blame them. But he is so, so lonely.) _

 

_ Her power is that she can create and control these little creatures she calls ringers. They're just a little too big, a little too noticeable, to scuttle out through the holes in the mesh of the cage.  _

 

_ She whispers to him, late at night, as they huddle for warmth, that all he has to do is cut a little slit in the mesh. A slip of his wings, the accidental drag of one of the claws that tip them, is all it would take. We can get a message to the outside, we can be rescued, she whispers. _

 

_ He listens, let that little spark of hope he hadn't lost shine through. _

 

_ They have a fight the next day. It's no contest, and everyone knows it. The most you can hope for when you fight Angel is that you won't be hurt badly enough to bleed out. _

 

_ The ringers swarm him, bite into his flesh, but they’re easily avoided by taking to the air. He rises with a powerful downstroke of his wings, and looks at her. There's fear in her face as she cowers, presses herself against the mesh of the cage, trying to get as far away from him as possible. There's nowhere to run, and she knows it. _

 

_ He knew she would be afraid of him, how could she not be when he's poised to leap down upon her and rip her to pieces?, but it still hurts to see the terror on her face. _

 

_ He takes a deep breath and rushes down towards her. He’s careful; with the reach of his wings, it would be easiest to go for her legs. But then she would be incapacitated for her next fight, and then she would be punished. So he buries his first wing tip in her shoulder. _

 

_ She screams, and he strikes out with the other wing. He misses purposely, and buries the claw into the mesh behind her ripping it open. She screams again, and the ringers surge towards them, biting and clawing at him. He thrashes, a storm of feathers, effectively obscuring the single ringer climbing through the hole from the audience’s view. _

 

_ She had written the note in careful handwriting, though her hands had been shaking. He knows what the address for this place is, he'd been taken outside a couple of times to be shown off. He tells her and she cheers in excitement, scribbling it down. The ringers hide the note, then pass it to the one that made it out, and the free ringer scuttles off for the police station. _

 

_ Two days later, they're dragged out of their sleeping places and loaded into trucks. The entire pit uproots itself and moves to a new location. She sobs in the truck next to him, brokenly. He sits, silent, knowing what comes next. _

 

_ Once the fighters are placed in the new pit, one of the guards comes and gets Angel. They bring him to the only nice room in the building; even the guards only get a stark rest room. But this room has plush carpeting, a small bookshelf, and a large desk made out of nice wood. _

 

_ He sees the man behind the desk and his heart stops. He knew this is what would happen, but he had hoped it wouldn't. _

 

_ The Master smiles at him, gestures for him to sit down. Angel sits in the plush chair, stomach lurching with nausea. It's the softest thing he feels in his life, so soft it feels like quicksand sucking him in. This is what he pays for in blood, this what he gains as the Master’s favorite. _

 

_ “Angel, as you know, we had to move our operation. It seems someone managed to get a tip to the police. We don't know who it was, that's why I've had you brought here.” _

 

_ He leans forwards and Angel feels himself begin to tremble. _

 

_ “Was it one of the fighters, Angel?” _

 

_ Angel is shaking now, his fingernails tapping on the wooden arm rests on the chair. There's a lump in his throat, like an insect crawling up his esophagus.  _

 

_ Please, don't make me do this. Please, please… _

 

_ “I promise they won't be hurt, Angel.” _

 

_ The Master towers over him, pats him gently on the head, runs fingers through his hair. _

 

_ The first noise that makes it around the lump in his throat is a meaningless mix of words, shrill and pained. The Master leans in closer and smiles at Angel. _

 

_ “What was that, Angel, dear?” _

 

_ His second try comes out clearer, if a little quiet. _

 

_ “It was Ann.” _

 

_ The Master retreats, back behind the desk. He's no longer looming, now he's friendly, smiling at Angel as if they were just friends talking about the latest gossip. Dread joins the nausea in his stomach and he has to push down a wave of bile. _

 

_ “This is why you're my favorite, Angel. You're such a helpful boy. How did she do it?” _

 

_ “I-I helped her. I cut open the mesh of the cage, she sent a ringer through it.” _

 

_ The Master’s face twitches. Angel flinches back, but the man continues in a calm, congenial voice: _

 

_ “That doesn't explain how the police knew how to find us.” _

 

_ “I knew the old pit’s address. I saw it when you took me out for showings. I told her, she wrote it in a note which the ringer took.” _

 

_ The Master is no longer smiling. Angel wants to apologize, but knows it will do no good, earn him no mercy. _

 

_ “You figured out the address from a few trips outside.” _

 

_ The Master stands up, playing with the watch chain of his suit pants. He steps towards Angel, places a friendly hand on his shoulder. _

 

_ “What have I told you about thinking, Angel.” _

 

_ “I…” _

 

_ The slap is sudden, but not unexpected. Angel doesn't resist, lets the blow shake his body, slumps to the side. _

 

_ “You are a fighter. You do not think. You are not capable of higher thought, Angel. You are a mutant, nothing more. Do you understand?” _

 

_ “Yes sir.” _

 

_ The Master steps away, wiping his hand on his handkerchief as if touching Angel has dirtied him. He turns to the two guards. _

 

_ “Take Angel, put him in confinement. No food, only water, for five days.” _

 

_ Angel trembles but doesn't resist as the guards drag him out of the plush chair. It's been so long since he did anything bad enough to be confined, he doesn't want to go into the dark… _

 

_ He'd tried begging, when he was younger. That didn't work any better than apologizing did. _

 

_ When they finally let him back into the pit, Ann is nowhere to be found. He doesn't have to ask the others what happened, he already knows. _

 

He stares up at Storm, reminds himself that she’s free, she's safe. He hasn't hurt her, and Magneto won't be able to either. She smiles down at him as the second chain cracks, freeing his other wing. Then, she carefully steps away, giving him room to stretch.

 

He spreads his wings out, carefully, so that he doesn't disturb the tent and alert the X-men to his freedom. He stares at the glimmering feathers and is suddenly so thankful that Apocalypse gave them back to him. They are the only things that have ever given him worth, and he would be useless without them.

 

Apocalypse, for all his flaws, had been one of the best masters yet. He had let Angel fly free, in the open air, with no mesh caging him in. He had let him fight in the open, where the bulk of his wings were an advantage rather than a disadvantage.

 

And, Angel thinks as he stares at the razor sharp metal of his new wings, Apocalypse has made him into even more of a weapon than before. He can kill with all of his wings, rather than just the tips, now. He can end a fight from far away, now that he can release the feathers from the wings as deadly projectiles.

 

He looks from the wings to Magneto as the master enters the tent. Something like hope, but darker, more vicious, twists through him. He will be able to serve Magneto better than any master he has served before.

 

He smiles at Magneto, the cruel, cocky smile he would give his enemies in the ring. Magneto smiles back, a harsh baring of teeth as frightening as Angel’s own smile. Then he turns to Storm, smiling more gently.

 

“Thank you for doing this, Storm.”

 

“You're welcome. But when you leave, won't they know I helped you?”

 

“You may leave before we do, find someone to hang out with so that you have an alibi. Even if people do suspect, Charles won't let them hurt you.”

 

She nods, but is shifting nervously. Suddenly, she throws herself forwards and into Magneto, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Angel flinches, ready for the master to throw her off and punish her for her insolence, but Magneto doesn't move.

 

Then he wraps his arms around her as well, returning the hug. Angel stares in awe, shaken by the kindness of this master. There’s something else too, bubbling up in his stomach, relief that Storm isn't being punished. She’s so young and kind, she doesn't deserve to be hurt.

 

Storm mutters into Magneto’s chest, fearful and so young:

 

“I'll see you again, won't I?”

 

Magento’s intensity lessens, as if the rage burning in him has calmed for a moment. 

 

“Of course you will, Storm. I'm not abandoning you, I never will.”

 

She smiles up at him and loosens the hug, pulling away. 

 

“I'll see you guys later, then!”

 

She waves at Angel and leaves the tent, a slight skip in her step. Angel stares after her, missing her kind and cheerful demeanour already. Once she's out of sight, he looks back at Magneto, who is levitating the broken chain pieces around his hands.

 

“We’ll need to take these with us, or they might be able to prove it was Storm who freed you. Can you get up? Will you be able to fly?”

 

Angel swings his legs off the gurney, wincing at the pain that blossoms in his side. Fortunately, his arm is casted, so he doesn't have to worry about keeping it still. The wound on his abdomen aches, pain sparking as he moves, but it's manageable. Angel makes it to his feet and nods to Magneto.

 

“I'm ready, sir.”

 

Magneto twitches at the honorific, but ignores it in favor of ripping open the top of the tent.

 

“Then let’s go.”

 

Magneto levitates, and flies out the hole in the tent and into open air. Angel flaps his wings a couple times, testing them, and then launches himself after his master. The sky is dark but, fortunately, clear. Flying in a storm with metal wings would be asking to get hit by lighting. Angel puts on a burst of speed to catch up with Magneto. 

 

There’s a couple of shouts from the camp, and an energy blast shoots past them, but doesn't hit them. They must be out of range quickly, as no more energy comes after them. They appear to have made a clean escape.

  
Angel has no idea where they're going, but he doesn't ask. He just enjoys the freedom of flying in the cool night air, trying not to think about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> currently, magneto is unaware of Angel's issues and the fact that Angel sees him as one of the masters. He will figure it out eventually, but since he's magneto and can't even deal with his own trauma, it probably won't go well. 
> 
> I'm trying to make this story as comic accurate as possible, which means both storm and angel become x-men. that's why I had storm stay with at mansion, and also because after the loss of his daughter, I think magneto would hesitant to bring a young girl into his fight.
> 
> as I was writing this chapter I realized I see no way to end this story happily...just giving y'all a heads up, the best you'll get is a bittersweet ending.


	9. it's my mind, not yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter addresses the issue I've always had with Charles. He's so willing to use his powers, he just breaks into any mind he feels like. I think mutants who've been hurt before would react badly to the lose of control, especially ones like Psylocke who've been mind controlled before.
> 
> also, I've figured out what I'm doing with Psylocke's backstory in this fic. I'm keeping it less dark, so focused on her mind controlled issue rather than the attempted r*pe that apparently was very insignificant to her overall personality. Special thanks to IceImagines for helping me work through it by lending their knowledge and I hope I do Psylocke justice!

\--------

The sky is starting to brighten behind them, delicate pinks and yellows heralding the rising sun. Magneto seems to have an unerring sense of where they're going; he never hesitates or changes direction. They've flown the entire night with no rest, and Angel’s flight muscles are beginning to ache again. 

 

He doesn't mention it to Magneto, or ask if they can stop for a moment. Some masters want fighters to stop before they hurt themselves, so as not to lose one, while others won't let you stop until you’ve collapsed. Not knowing which type Magneto is, Angel takes the safe route and keeps flying without complaint.

 

As the sun comes over the horizon, turning Angel’s feathers into glittering mirrors, Magneto begins to descend. Angel lets out a sigh of relief and follows him down to the ground. 

 

They're surrounded by dry, yellow cornfields. The leaves rustle in the wind like they're whispering, and the sun glints off their papery surface. The land is flat, with only two trees within view, and those are far off in the fields. 

 

If he had to guess, they're somewhere in the midwest. He's long since forgotten any state names, but they're not really important anyways. They're standing on the edge of a small town. Most of its building are worn down and closed up, but there's a few houses still showing signs of life.

 

Magneto walks towards the center of town, completely sure of himself. Angel looks towards the houses, very aware that someone could come out at anytime and see them. With Magneto’s trademark armor and his own unique wings, they're be recognized instantly. But Magneto isn't concerned, so Angel follows him, hesitantly.

 

Magneto reaches a long, narrow building, probably a warehouse. He waves his hand and his power unlocks the door and pulls it open. He strides into the darkness inside without hesitation. Angel stares into the shadows, shifting nervously, and grits his teeth.

 

_ Doesn’t this guy feel any fear? Or even think about what he’s walking into? _

 

He puffs up his feathers defensively and follows Magneto into the dark. The room is drafty, and something rattles to his right. He snarls and flares his wings, ready to rip something apart. Magneto’s voice floats out of the darkness in front of Angel:

 

“Angel! Stop thrashing, there’s nothing in here but us.”

 

Angel snaps his wings back towards his body, but can’t stop his eyes from darting around the dark, looking for threats. Finally, a light snaps on. Magneto is standing in the middle of the empty warehouse, the chain attached to the naked light bulb curled around his hand. Angel freezes, scans the room one last time, and forces himself to relax.

 

“This is one of my safehouses. We can stay out of sight here while we plan.”

 

“What is the plan?”

 

Magneto settles into one of the cheap plastic chairs pushed into the dusty corner of the room and begins to spin a rusty nail around his fingers, as if he’s about to dive deep into thought.

 

“My metal sense is weaker than it used to be, but I should still be able to track Psylocke’s sword. It’s made out of some metal I don’t recognize, very distinctive.”

 

Angel tries not to let the relief show on his face. Another fighter makes it easier on him, and he likes Psylocke. She’s cold and capable, a good ally to have, but also not bloodthirsty enough to stab you in the back. She’s strong and safe and he would be overjoyed to have her rejoin them.

 

However, he’s not sure she feels the same way.

 

But Magneto has made up his mind, so Angel settles down and keeps his mouth shut. Magneto has his eyes closed, focusing, and the metal in the room begins to shake and levitate as he gathers his power. It sparks through Angel as well, like the tasers the guards had carried in the pit. It makes his feathers shake and fills his body with potential energy, like charge gathering in a storm cloud in order to form lighting and strike.

 

Magneto sighs, the metal of the building beginning to shake as well. Angel stumbles forwards, his wings dancing in the grip of his power, twisting like they’ll rip themselves away from his body. The potential reaches a crescendo and Angel braces himself to have his wings torn away from him for the third time, when the power suddenly cuts off. All across the room, metal clatters to the floor. Angel sighs in relief and lets his wings droop.

 

Magneto groans and stretches in the chair, as if he had been there for hours rather than minutes.

 

“Sorry about that, took more effort than I was expecting. But I found her.”

 

Angel smiles, ready to get out of this empty warehouse that’s uncomfortably similar to the pit.

 

Then he feels it, like a hammer to the skull, like a worm chewing its way through his grey matter. He whines, a long forgotten terror reigniting in him. He drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the floor, gasping for breath, as the telepath finishes breaking into his mind. 

 

Distantly, he can hear Magneto’s concerned voice, as if he were hearing him through a pair of earplugs. The real world is muffled, only the voice in his head loud and important.

 

“Hello, Angel.” it greets hims, pleasantly. 

 

Angel writhes, ignoring the dirt smearing his clothes and scuffing his wings, clawing at his temples where the voice is perched. Hands try to pin him down and he thrashes harder, fighting to be free.

 

_ No! I’m not plotting anything I’m not a traitor I didn't invite the telepath in I’m not I’m not I’m not! _

 

The telepath seems to take notice of his panic, voice turning from cultured calm to cultured concern.

 

“Angel, what’s wrong? I’m sorry to intrude on your mind but I must speak to Magneto, I’m not hurting you! Please, calm down!”

 

Even through his desperation to get the telepath out before he’s accused of plotting another escape, Angel knows a purpose when he hears one. He doesn't stop clawing at himself, but he begins to relay the message, words bubbling out of him in panicked babble.

 

“It’s the leader---X-man, he wants---to----talk!”

 

Magneto curses and Angel flinches away, but fortunately the master’s anger seems to be directed towards the telepath rather than Angel.

 

“Charles, I’m not taking my helmet off. We have nothing to say to each other. Now stop tormenting Angel!”

 

The telepath huffs, but begins to retreat from Angel’s mind, leaving him shaking on the floor. Magneto pulls him up roughly, forcing him to his feet, and Angel braces to be punished for having a telepathic conversation.

 

Instead, Magneto rushes him towards the door.

 

“They'll be coming for us, let's go find Psylocke before they catch up with us.”

 

They stumble out of the warehouse, squinting into the morning sun. Angel leans into Magneto, clinging to him to stay upright. Magneto stares up at the bright blue sky, jaw clenched.

 

“Can you fly?”

 

Angel gasps for a couple more deep breaths, then squares his shoulders and spreads his wings.

 

“Yes, yes, let’s just go.”

 

They take off into the air again, but this time Magneto keeps them flying low to the ground rather than high up in open air. It makes flying more difficult, Angel’s wings are big and unwieldy, but as he looks back, he sees why.

 

There are tiny figures converging on the town they were just in, some from the air and some on the ground. They're being hunted, and they've got to stay out of sight. There a lot more of the X-men then there are of them.

 

So far, they don't seem to have been spotted: the X-men are converging on the town instead of following them. But Angel has to push down a wave of despair. How can they escape them when there are so many of them? Magneto and Angel are powerful, but not that powerful.

 

Angel has fought enough lost causes in his life, he isn't eager to fight this one as well.

 

\-------

 

Magneto alights on the top of the skyscraper Psylocke is inhabiting and takes a moment to catch his breath. Being hunted by the X-men makes his skin crawl. Being hunted by anyone would be irritating, but being hunted by mutants, especially mutants that used to be his friends, makes him angry. 

 

And, seeing Angel’s reaction to Charles’s intrusion has made him both concerned and furious. He’s concerned because Angel obviously has some issues which Magneto can do nothing about. It makes him unpredictable in a fight, and Magneto doesn’t like watching him suffer either. But the fury is what’s really gnawing at him right now.

 

This is exactly why he could never respect Charles again. He has no understanding of mutants that have gone through the worst of the world. He thinks he can save all of mutantkind with peace and goodwill but that won't work on all of them. Charles doesn’t have the empathy to help the more damaged mutants, nor does he respect that they are damaged. He’s too proud to admit that he doesn’t understand them, and his pride makes him stumble into their pitfalls and set them off. 

 

Erik grits his teeth and tries to stop thinking about it; it isn’t productive. Right now he needs to focus on Psylocke, and then on getting his brotherhood away from the pursuing X-men.

 

Angel lands next to him and Erik moves to the roof access door. It’s locked, but it’s easy for his power to undo the locks and let them into the building. It looks like apartment,and Magneto closes his eyes, reaching out for Psylocke’s unique metal signature.

 

She's a couple floors down, and very still, probably asleep. Carefully, Magneto picks his way down to her room, trying not alert any of the other inhabitants. This door is locked, too, and just as easily opened. He opens it carefully, but it still creaks slightly. He and Angel freeze, listening for any sign that they’ve alerted her to their presence.

 

The room stays still and silent, so Erik creeps further in. Angel follows, but misjudges the width of the doorway and slams a wing tip into it, the metal clank echoing loudly. Erik doesn’t even have time to curse before there’s a katana at his throat. Angel snarls and holds his wings up to her, ready to shred her if she hurts Erik. They’re at a standoff, but that doesn’t make Erik feel any better about the cool metal pressing against his throat.

 

“Psylocke. We’re sorry to intrude.”

 

Her expression doesn’t change, eyes glowing purple in the dark room. Erik swallows, tries to come up with something that will persuade her. Then Angel speaks, voice rough and exhausted.

 

“Psylocke, we need your help. They’re hunting us and there’s only two of us.”

 

She shifts, turning to look at him. Erik can feel the sword trembling slightly as her hands shake. She’s just as tired as they are.

 

“I owe you nothing. We were comrades, but we are not anymore.”

 

Angel remains silent, and so does Erik. It’s true, and they can’t think of any good reasons to argue with.

 

Then the air in the room tenses, in that peculiar way that marks a telepath. The sword falls away from Erik’s throat as Psylocke goes perfectly still, arms falling to her sides. She grimaces in concentration, eyes glowing brighter pink as she focuses. Erik looks at Angel, but he’s not reacting. That leaves only one person who the telepath could be talking to: Psylocke.

 

From the look on her face, it isn’t going well. She looks like she’s fighting a war in her head, teeth gritted and eyes pulsing with power.

 

_ Charles, you absolute idiot. _

 

She closes her eyes, and the pressure of the telepath recedes. When she opens them again, there’s so much rage in them that Erik physically flinches back. She snarls, white teeth flashing behind her purple stained lips.

 

“How dare he.”

 

Angel speaks up, sounding concerned.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

She laughs, a disdainful, aching noise, and tosses her head, hair settling over her shoulders.

 

“I’ve got enough walls around my mind to fight off anyone, but the fact that he’d even try it makes me want to  _ kill him. _ ”

 

Erik sighs; Charles’s done it again. Barging into people’s minds may work some of the time, but often it’s intrusive to the highest degree, turning the victim against him. Until he learns to respect mental boundaries, he’s never going to be able to work with the damaged mutants. But this time it worked to Erik’s favor: Psylocke’s anger might push her over to their side. So he steps forwards, hesitant to draw her attention, but it’s necessary.

 

“He’s hurt us too, Psylocke. He claims to want to help us, but instead he only makes us worse. And he coming, now. He’s hunting us and he’ll be here soon. Come with us, away from him.”

 

Psylocke looks around the room, as if Charles is about to burst in through the ceiling. She’s somehow gotten even more tense than when she was holding a sword on him. She looks back at Erik, angry and trapped, and nods. Erik sighs in relief and turns to leave, knowing they’ll follow him. Angel, who's been staring at Psylocke in wonder, quickly steps to her side and walks in time with her.

 

As Erik leads them up to the room again, he can hear Angel plying Psylocke with questions.

 

“You can really protect your mind? How can you do that? Can you teach me?”

 

She looks irritated, but answers him nonetheless.

 

“It’s a matter of training, and” her voice turns bitter, “practice. And yes I can teach you, if you’re willing to put in the time.”

 

They reach the rooftop, still distracted by their conversation behind him. He puts out his arms to stop them, staring up into the blue sky.

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to start that lesson.”

 

The X-men are there, waiting for them.


	10. payback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy I'm sorry this story died for a while, I'm college now and it is...interesting. But I have a new chapter! It's pretty much just fighting, sorry if that bores you. But I'm writing the next one and it should be up soon too, so the plot will soon progress and there will be much bloody vengeance.
> 
> This chapter has some badass psylocke which I'm excited about and also erik is being a manipulative supervillain again. I'm going to remind y'all that he may the protagonist of this story, but that doesn't mean you should think he's a good guy or woobify him. He's vicious and that's just part of his character.
> 
> Tw: blood, serious injuries but not graphically described

\--------

The fire girl floats above his head and he feels a sliver of fear run down his spine. The comforting weight of his helmet seems to lighten; he knows it’s useless with her around. Mystique grins gloatingly next to Jean, perhaps the only one who can sense his discomfort. Kurt fidgets at her side, tail curling into worried spirals.

 

That cuts Magneto deeper than seeing his most loyal follower turned against him; he doesn’t want to hurt Kurt. But he knows it may be unavoidable; anyone who gets in his way will be removed, no matter his emotional attachments. He lets himself waste a moment thinking an apology to Azazel and then steps forwards. He grins, feeling like a corpse that hasn’t managed to rot yet.

 

Mystique matches his knife-smile, but there’s a flicker of fear in her eyes. She can see how tired Erik is becoming, and knows he only fights harder when he’s desperate. Behind him, he can feel Angel and Psylocke, as tense as he is.

 

“Mystique.”

 

“Erik. You can come home, just stop this. Violence isn’t the answer.”

 

Erik grinds his teeth, an ache forming in his jaw. He knows it’ll spike up into headache later.

 

“You sound just like him, Mystique.”

 

She squares her shoulders, tosses her red mane over her shoulders.

 

“Like Charles? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

Erik’s ready to spew more red hot words, try to make her flinch, but he doesn’t get the chance. A shower of pink blades flies past him, speeding towards the X-men.  Despite Psylocke’s unerring aim, they all miss their targets: Nightcrawler vanishes, Mystique just barely flips out of the way, and Jean deflects them with a wave of her hand. Psylocke steps forwards, unfazed by her first attack’s failure, and unsheathes her sword. She steps into a ready posture, body flowing into the tense stance with trained grace.

 

“You go back to your mind breaker and tell him that he’ll pay for what he’s done.”

 

Then she’s a blur of purple and black, leaping at Mystique. Angel arrows through the air, colliding with Jean and keeping her too distracted to help. She blocks all his attacks, but he goes after her with the single minded determination of a bulldog. Mystique and Psylocke roll across the roof in a flurry of vicious strikes, too fast for Erik to follow. He watches the two fights warily, unwilling to involve himself, but also unwilling to just stand around.

 

Then he hears a strange noise behind him and something wraps around his throat and he begins to choke. He’d lost his focus, forgotten about Kurt. His body instinctively sets his fingers clawing at the tail around his neck. It’s useless, the tail is probably stronger than any of Erik’s limbs: mutated body parts tend to be more powerful. He has to consciously stop his arms from reacting and calm his mind before he can reach out to his power—the only thing that will help him.

 

He ignores the way his vision is dimming and pulls—

 

The roofing rips itself off the building and blindly throws itself behind him. It’s inelegant, but effective: the tail disappears as Kurt transports away with a startled squawk. He rematerializes a moment later, fangs bared and tail whipping back and forth like an angry cat. Erik shakes himself and struggles draw in breath, glaring at him. He doesn’t want to hurt Kurt, but he’s in the way, and seems to have no intention of standing aside.

 

“I knew your father, Kurt. None of your powers will surprise me.”

 

Kurt shifts nervously and bites his lip, red eyes glowing fainter. But when he speaks, there’s no hesitation in his voice.

 

“That is a terrifying and entirely possible idea. But you won’t stop me that easily.”

 

Erik almost laughs; it’s very much an Azrael thing to say. He can respect a person devoted to their cause, even if it’s the wrong one.

 

Erik tenses to attack, but is stopped by Angel plummeting out of the sky. He shrieks and squirms, but can’t stop his descent; Jean has him trapped in her invisible grip. He hits the roof and thrashes, wings slamming into the hard surface as he fights to be free. Erik changes his mind and gathers his power to fly to Angel’s aid.

 

He barley makes it a foot before he too is pulled down and pinned to the roof. Kurt jumps back, shock on his face, and skitters over towards Jean. Erik rips more roof tiles up and throws them at her floating form, but she blocks them all. Erik and Angel are practically useless, unless they can break her concentration.

 

Kurt smiles up at her, all sunshine and youth in a way that makes Erik’s heart ache.

 

“Jean, your powers, they’re amazing!”

 

Behind them, Psylocke kicks Mystique off the edge of the building. She leaves behind a spray of red droplets, turning the rooftop into abstract art. Psylocke turns, her eyes flaming with pink power, and stalks towards the oblivious X-men. Erik manages not to let the vicious glee show on his face, knowing Psylocke can only defeat Jean as long as she has the element of surprise.

 

She crouches, leaps—

 

Jean falls, a sword through her stomach. She hits the roof and gurgles wetly; it’s a terrible noise, but she’ll probably live. Her psychic control wavers, crushing them tighter for a moment before letting them go. Kurt screams, rage and terror merging, and lashes out at Psylocke. She dodges, elegant and deadly as a snake, and takes him down with a quick elbow to the neck.

 

Angel and Erik pick themselves off the roof, coughing to clear their crushed lungs. Angel stares at the limp X-men, something close to hero worship growing on his face. That makes Erik’s stomach twist and he makes a mental note to keep an eye on that. Psylocke is an uncertain variable, and the only blind devotion Erik encourages is towards himself. Angel’s loyalties cannot be allowed to shift, not when Erik has so few supporters.

 

Psylocke doesn’t respond to Angel’s awe, just wipes the blood off her sword and mutters:

 

“More of them will come. We need to move.”

 

She turns and leaps away from them, alighting on the next roof. She doesn’t stop to wait for them; they’ll either follow or get left behind. Erik sighs, but levitates and joins her, Angel quickly taking up a position on his other side. Beggars who are trying to build a brotherhood can’t be choosers, and there will be time to remind Psylocke of her place later.

 

\--------


	11. progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally wrote a new chapter!!!! It's funny because this is actually the beginning of the plot that I actually was writing this story for lol. Obviously it got a little out of hand.
> 
> tw for this chapter: a flashback to some of angel's trauma; it's not too violent but he is locked in a room and isolated from people. There's the tiniest bit of self harm there too. Description of a panic attack.
> 
> this chapter also talks about my oc Ann, who is a person from angel's past. If you need a refresher on who she is and what happened to her go to chapter 8.

\------

Erik sits in the corner of their new safehouse, hidden irritation boiling under his skin. Angel had finally stopped babbling, but that comes at the price of watching Psylocke teach him how to guard his mind from telepathic attacks. It’s an useful skill to have, but the problem is that it’s Psylocke teaching him. They’re becoming close, possibly too close. Erik has to keep them close enough to work well together, but separate enough that they can’t plot against him.

 

For now, he’s going to let it go. He’s too tired to think of a subtle wedge to drive between them right now.

 

Psylocke breaks the silence:

 

“Can you see the walls in your head, Angel?”

 

“Yes, I can. They’re made of metal, miles thick. Nothing can break them.”

 

The descriptors are a good sign, the more real you can make the mental image the more likely it is to survive the onslaught.

 

“Good. Now place them around something you want to protect. Start with a memory, those are the easiest because they’re static.”

 

“Alright, I’ve got them in place.”

 

“Now, I’m going to try and break into that memory. Try to keep the walls up, don’t let me in.”

 

Angel shifts nervously, but nods and closes his eyes. Psylocke focuses, forehead wrinkling. The room tightens, the air strung tight with the force her telepathy is exerting. Erik can feel it, and wishes he’d thought to leave his helmet on. His regret is cut off when Angel snarls, fingers digging into the carpet he’s sitting on. He’s fighting her, but he’s losing.

 

With a scream, something cracks. All the tightness suddenly breaks and in its absence is a wave of thought. Erik struggles to bring his walls up, but doesn’t quite make it in time. The combination of Psylocke’s telepathic power and Angel’s memory slams into him, dragging him into a past that isn’t his own.

 

The world is dark and small and panicked breathing thunders in his ears. He throws himself against the walls, ignoring how it bruises his arms and sends waves of pain down his wings. He shrieks, wordless and terrified, the cry of an animal stuck in a trap. The small room is a symphony of his fear, his screams and the thudding of his body hitting the wall echoing around him. Someone must hear, but no comes to help. No one ever does.

 

He throws himself where the door should be and screams as loud as his aching throat lets him:

 

“Master, please!”

 

Erik’s walls finally snap into place, freeing him from the memory. Psylocke is panting with exertion, her pink power dancing around her a moment before fizzling out. Angel has curled into a protective ball, forehead pressed into the floor. Erik ignores him for a moment and snarls at Psylocke:

 

“What happened?”

 

She runs a hand over her face, trying to collect herself.

 

“I was unprepared for the emotions contained in the memory. When I broke in, they overwhelmed me momentarily. I must have been projecting strongly enough that you were drawn into the memory as well. I apologize, I should have been more careful.”

 

Erik is irritated by the intrusion, but he has bigger concerns.

 

“Angel, what the hell was that memory?”

 

Angel is still uncurling from his fetal position, looking at them with a twinge of fear. He looks like a dog who's ripped up the couch and is expecting to be punished for it. He fidgets, twisting his fingers together, but doesn’t try to hide the truth.

 

“That was how the old master would punish me.”

 

Erik takes a second to wonder why Angel would choose that memory for this episode, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by a wave of rage.

 

“He would lock you in that tiny room? For how long?”

 

The metal in the room is vibrating slightly, making Angel and Psylocke look nervous, but he’s too angry to make it calm down. Angel answers, eyes darting around the room as if he expects to be attacked any minute.

 

“Just for couple days, usually. He wasn’t as kind as you, sir.”

 

Erik falls back in his chair, nausea churning his stomach. He’d known Angel had been a cage fighter, but he’d never really looked into what that meant. Psylocke had picked up on the other part of that response and she asks Angel:

 

“Is Magneto your master, Angel?”

 

Erik sputters at that and answers at the same time as Angel:

 

“Yes!”

 

“No!”

 

They stop and stare at each other and Erik feels horror trickling into him. This whole time, Angel had thought Erik was like one of those terrible humans? He had thought he’d be punished if he’d disobeyed? Angel is looking terrified as well, obviously frightened by the thought of not having someone in charge. Psylocke is trying very hard to stay calm and keep things under control.

 

“There seems to be a misunderstanding between you two.” 

 

Erik takes a very deep breath and tries not to let the disgust curdling in his stomach show on his face. When he speaks, his voice shakes with the rage he’s holding back.

 

“Yes, indeed. Angel, I am not your master.”

 

Angel looks more stricken, and begins to run his fingers over the carpet nervously. His voice wavers when he whispers:

 

“If you’re not the master, then who is?”

 

“No one. You’re free now, Angel.”

 

Angel feels himself freeze, panic and fear surging inside him. He can feel himself beginning to gasp for breath, the punishments for escaping swimming through his head and pushing him closer to breakdown. He can just barely hear Magneto through the panic:

 

“Don’t you know how to be free?”

 

His mind is a chorus of no, screaming that he’s been caged his whole life, that he had even been good at cage fighting, that he doesn’t have a choice.

 

But then he thinks of Ann, of how desperately she had fought to be free, how glowingly she talked of walking outside and being under her own control, how carelessly the Master had killed her.

 

The thought of freedom still terrifies him, goes against everything he’s ever known, but now there’s something else writhing in his gut along with the fear. It’s a bloody, hateful rage that feels like it’ll bubble up his throat and drip down his chin. Ann wanted to be free and never got to be, it would be wrong to refuse the chance being given to him.

 

“I don’t know how to be free yet, but I want to learn.”

 

Magneto laughs, relief obvious. Psylocke smiles, something that almost looks like pride on her face. But the mood in the room suddenly changes again as Magneto leans forwards, smiling cruelly, and snarls:

 

“Well, in the meantime, I want to murder the people who did that to you.”

 

Angel can’t even process what he just said. The thought of killing the Masters was thrown around by some of the braver cage fighters, but it was never a real option. Angel hadn’t even really believed the Masters could be hurt until the fight with the blue demon, when everything became short circuiting energy and screams.

 

Psylocke leans towards him, concern on her face, and asks:

 

“Would you want that, Angel?”

 

The thought of rebellion makes him feel sicker, the fear increasing, but he thinks of how they killed Ann and the rage grows too. The Masters were cruel and the fighters may have deserved their cruelty, but Angel can’t forgive them for killing Ann.

 

“Yes. I want them dead. They killed her. I want them dead.”

 

The rage is filling Angel now, and it’s pushing the fear back. He feels stronger, more dangerous. He feels free in a way that he thinks Ann would have liked. When the fear comes creeping back he thinks of her, ranting about how the Masters were criminals who deserved to be punished. He thinks of her and tries to pretend he’s as brave and hateful as she was. Magneto grins, sharp teeth and dead eyes, and whispers:

 

“Perfect.”

\-------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay angel is beginning to see himself as a person and not an object! And some well deserved vengeance is going to be meted out.


End file.
